Fetch
by Nekare
Summary: [Drabble collection, RLSB]Remus is made of Autumn, Sirius muses when he realizes, not for the first time, that his hair matches the dying leaves at their feet. [19. Remus denies himself, Sirius doesn't give up that easily.]
1. Fetch

Written for the **scarvesandhats** the LJ community for autumn puppy love goodness. Feedback will be really, really appreciated. Warning: My first language isn't English, so this is bound to have mistakes.

**Fetch**

**By: Nekare**

Sirius says he wanted to play fetch. Remus doesn't believe him, but chooses to follow him anyway. And off they go, two boys in scarves and muggle clothing (because even a pistachio colored shirt is an act of defiance for Sirius), patched for the loony boy (and Peeves doesn't know his nickname from him comes so close to the truth) and with magic-made holes for the doggy one.

They run off to Hogsmeade, hiding from people that might know they're not supposed to be there, laughing in dark alleys and using James' cloak to steal the best of Madam Rosmerta's firewhiskey (you only live once, Sirius says when Remus proclaims his outrage, and Remus slips a few sickles on the counter when the other's not watching).

Remus' scarf decides to play tag without permission, and they both chase through the endless yellowing fields, breathless with laughter and maybe a bit drunk with life (although the firewhiskey had its part in it) and the sweet smell of autumn – candy, deep orange pumpkin, and sugary apples.

(And with the shared idea of eating one together. Neither knows the other thinks it too, though.)

When Sirius finally catches the runaway tartan scarf (legs aching, but a grin on his lips), he turns around to the still running Remus, throws the fabric around his neck, with the ends still between his fingers, and pulls Remus to him; bodies close and breaths mingling.

A blush, for even when both had seen this coming it is still too new, too unstable to put on words. The smiles don't disappear. Remus is made of Autumn, Sirius muses, when he realizes (not for the first time) that his hair matches the dying leaves at their feet; soft light in his eyes and quiet presence too often ignored by those more interested on its fellow stations (not by Sirius, though, he's always painfully aware of him).

"Good dog," Says Remus in between short intakes of breath "although fetch is supposed to be played with a stick." Sirius laughs loudly, and leans down to kiss him, sweetness and whiskey and some of the life they've been taking as a drug passing back and forth; warmth overtaking the chilling wind that still wants to play with them (it takes the leaves instead, and they both end up with peaces of red and brown twisted in their hair).

Remus breaks away, regains the control of his scarf and starts running, a smirk toying with Sirius' heart as he yells "Catch me!"; pink on his cheeks and a bear-like dog at his heels.

They pass the rest of the evening playing fetch, and Remus tries to overlook the fact that he's being used as a substitute for a stick. (Doesn't want to think about the puns either, but Sirius reminds him of them anyway.)

In the end, he doesn't mind getting caught.


	2. In Sickness and in Health

I've decided to post here my entries for the October themed community, **scarvesnhats**. Up to now, each will stand on its own. Well, hope you like them. (And review! reviews make me happy.)

**In Sickness and in Health**

**By: Nekare**

The four boys are dying from sickness (or so Sirius says), bed covers up to their noses and foul smelling flu potions on the table beneath the window. The snow mocks them from the frosted window, spidery webs of ice encasing the glass, full of promises of snow fights and hot chocolate and the glowing fire on the common room; out of bounds for the Marauders in fear they may spread the bug. (Lily has been bringing them soup, out of compassion or so she says, so James isn't at all that unhappy.)

Sirius has been talking for an hour already, everything and nothing coming out of chapped lips in the form of threats against the Slytherins just because and philosophical ramblings interrupted occasionally with a powerful sneeze.

(And Remus won't stop him, as his guilty pleasure is listening to Sirius' voice).

"The world is wide", he says with his eyes fixed on his scarlet (the same shade as his nose) canopy, "and now I'm free to conquer it by myself." And he's referring to his Most Brave Escapade of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Remus knows, but he feels delirious and cold and he can't think very well with all of the shacking his body has decided to do. So he listens to the words without thinking of the meaning and if squints hard enough he can see them writing themselves in red and gold and maybe a little bit of green in bold letters on the roof; dancing an intricate dance for him and him only.

"Are you listening Moony?" Sirius asks when he realizes Peter's snoring softly and James has drowned himself in six layers of blankets, finally turning his head to stare at Remus with half opened eyes and a runny nose; looking put out at the fact that nobody is very interested in his plan of World Conquest.

"I need a tissue," Remus says and promptly kills the mood.


	3. Hogsmeade Under Attack

So I'm back again with yet another drabble (a bit longer, yeah!). The prompt was : First Hogsmeade Weekend. Thus, this came out.

Thanks for the lovely reviews, I adored them (and keep them coming! they make my day). BTW, don't you all love Daring!Remus? don't you?

**Hogsmeade Under Attack**

**By: Nekare**

The air is sweet in Hogsmeade, hundreds of students breathing in the candy-flavored scent that goes out of Honeydukes, Sugar quills, cauldron cakes and pumpkin pie; made out of Hagrid's finest. It's early in October, but jack-o-lanterns and decorative skeletons ornate most of the villages houses, even when wizardry children don't go from door to door asking for treat or trick, the motto of the mischievous, with cardboard devil tails and sheets thrown over their heads, a celebration Remus has always find quite entertaining.

James and Peter have both deserted them for skirt-chasing (or on Prongs case, Lily-chasing) and they were sitting by the fence of the Shrieking Shack, sharing a butterbeer (or half a dozen, but who was counting) and being too close to share some warmth in the cold day, or so they say.

Remus produces a gigantic bar of chocolate from one of his robes pockets, munching into it happily; and Sirius steals it swiftly and bites into it, eyes closed as the chocolate melts slowly in his mouth, traces of butterbeer mixing with the almond and macadamia nut chocolate (and that's always a sign that the full moon is approaching, in the middle of the month Remus will have it with milk, and just after the moon he'll have it dark and sultry and seductive in Sirius' mind as he watches him eat it in earnest), a soft _hey_, from the brown-haired boy.

Sirius offers an apologetic smile and the smuggled firewhiskey he brought with him from the castle, and Remus accepts it with a slight frown but eager hands, loving a bit of danger as much as the other Marauders at any time, and even more three days away from the moon. Soon, they're sharing both treats, laughing about silly things that really weren't that funny, but Sirius doesn't have a date (hasn't had one in months, actually) and Remus only lets the _hope_ reach his eyes while he's drunk enough; so he laughs and cling at him at a particularly stupid joke, and stays there, head on his shoulder, treating himself with a guilty pleasure for once (he tells himself he deserves it, and almost believes it).

They keep on drinking, and an hour later they're ready to roam the village for some pranking, noses red from the cold wind and the alcohol; scarves tied tightly to their necks. They're drunk enough, but they only sway a little when the stand up, helping the other at the same time and making a knot of limbs in their mutual desire to have an excuse to touch, a hand on Remus' shoulder as Sirius steadies himself in perfectly even ground, face matching the red on his scarf when he realizes he might be giving himself away.

So they roam, the remaining pumpkins gaining a shaky wand-made face and a charm to sing off-key (guaranteed to annoy people, Sirius' main goal in life), orange and black decorations suddenly turning into Christmas ones, green clashing horribly with the brown leaves dying on the floor; and when they're chased out of the Post Office after they set free at least two dozens of owls they tumble laughing into the nearest alley, both trying their hardest not to laugh (fruitless campaign, it seems), Remus puts his hand against Sirius' mouth, trying to shut him up on behalf of their very hex-threatened behinds, curtesy of the Post Office lone employee; Sirius can't help himself when he kisses the palm slowly, shoulders still shaking with soundless laughter.

Remus' eyes widen slightly, but when he sees the other boy's eyes alight with mirth he shoves both his hand and his doubts aside, and deciding he was drunk enough to be bold he kisses Sirius whilst still hearing the poor terrified employee yelling for their blood outside the Three Broomsticks, an angry mob agreeing with the cause.

And then Sirius is kissing him back, and the doubts and hesitance and all the things he's been burying deep inside for months now dissolve as he tastes chocolate and nuts and alcohol and a bit of autumn's golden sun, all swirling as his hands wound up around Sirius' neck and grasps his scarf tightly.

When they part they just smile at each other and choose another victim as Sirius chants _So many pranks, so little time_, under his breath, both hiding from villagers armed with a hex to fill with boils ones bottom and stealing kisses in between.

The next day Honedukes is filled to the top with pink and gray bubbles, encrypted with three symbols: S+R, and no one actually knows how to dispose of them.


	4. The Tree House

Written for the october 10th promtp, an old and rickety tree house, and of course, in the middle of autumn. Hope you like it. (And review! 'cause reviews make me happier.)

**The Tree House**

**By: Nekare**

The tree house is ancient, belonging to Remus' father when he had been a small child in a big war, on both the magical and muggle side. He had told his werewolf kid hundreds of stories involving the tree house and frogs and summers under the sun and tawny boys with bright eyes and all of the time of the world to explore with the school closed for the bombs. Remus knows his father always felt guilty for the fact that his most beloved years were the ones that brought depressing and black memories for other people, but he still cherishes the way his father would sit him on his knees on rainy days and talk for hours on end, reading thick books as Remus got older.

And then it was Remus' turn to go to Hogwarts, and when he came back on the summer just before the fifth year and brought his three friends, it was his time to build memories inside the tree house; four boys cramming on the reduced space sharing apples covered with caramel that would stick their teeth together and the pumpkin sweets Mrs. Lupin prepared in hope for the children to stay away from the giant ones she was growing for the still far away October; laughing and joking and being boys in summer without homework or responsibilities (and that ended the day Remus got his Prefect badge with the mail halfway trough the month).

And then Halloween came in 1981, and when Remus' eyes collapsed right before his eyes, right after being waiting for some kind of hope for months, Remus starting avoiding his parents house altogether; away from the muttered questions of 'Are you all right?' and the long lost memories the entire land brought up to surface, cutting to the bone as strongly as a full moon.

* * *

The first time Remus sees Sirius again since the incident in the Shrieking Shack is on autumn of 1994, while he's staying at his parents house out of money and a place to live, a bit thinner than he had been at Hogwarts, where he had been able to eat large meals at his leisure without worrying about his budget; but since he had found his mother's garden full of blooming pumpkins (a strange miracle, as Remus' mother had been dead for at least a decade) he had started fattening himself with homemade sweets and pie, after he had found the recipes written on yellowing parchment hidden on one of the cupboards, a note for Remus at the end of each one, suggestions and fussing in words about his health and wishes for a long live, touched with what had surely being the last of her magic.

Sirius had breezed by for a few days, just before going south to be closer to Harry, whose Scar had apparently been hurting that summer; and he was pleasantly surprised to find a big black door on his door one morning, catching him in the middle of a flea induced scratching, barking with joy once he had noticed Remus standing on the doorway with a smile, and soon Remus' face had been thoroughly cleansed (or at least that's what Sirius called it) with the help of Padfoot's tongue.

It had been wonderful, a reconnection of sorts, and while they lay together on the grass under the stars in the middle of October and in rural Scotland no less, they have the idea of going up the old tree house, just for kicks, since tomorrow Sirius will be gone again and they can't but to enjoy every second of their shared days.

So they do, and the wood is mossy and a bit moist, but it smells like summer still on both of the men's minds, summer and apples and friendship. They laugh the night away, finally free of guilt and sadness and madness to remember their youth, and as the memories start to have red-haired girls and tiny babies in them and the tears start to well up in their eyes it only feels natural to grasp each others hand; a silent comfort and a promise of something new and amazing in the simple touch.

They fall asleep like that, and in the morning, when they try to go back to the house with blue lips and shacking limbs one of the wooden steps gives out (after all, it _is _ancient, more than half a century old), and they end up falling hard on the colored leaf-filled grass, more laughter as a dog tries to beckon the graying man to play, chasing through the garden in the search of some warmth and a bit of the innocence they both lost so long ago.

(And when they lay on the leaves again, the sun comes out in a myriad of oranges and reds and pinks, and their hands touch again; they do fell seventeen all over again.)


	5. Kidnapping

On my defence, at least this is longer... The thing is, I'm not really satisfied with this one, as the dialogue seems too lame and weird for my tastes; but I do love the original idea. So please be kind enough to tell me what you both like and dislike about this, as it would be quite helpful to me.

**Kidnapping**

**By: Nekare**

His glove had been gone for a week before Remus noticed, and as he asked people whether they had seen a gray glove around with his left hand in a fashionably blue color he couldn't help but wonder how could his glove vanish while in the bottom of a school trunk filled with broken quills, more books than what he could count and a few dungbombs and prank souvenirs that marked him as a Marauder.

In retrospect, Remus knew he should have seen it coming, for when a ransom note was delivered to him by a very nervous looking first year, Sirius was nowhere in sight. The note said: 'Bring two of your new Honeyduke's chocolate bars to the sixth floor corridor just outside charms or you won't ever see your glove again. Do not try and tell the Head Boy or your back will be covered in boils. I mean it!'

Remus spent an hour in detention with Flitwick after having laughed too hard on his class, ransom note still in his hand and tears of laughter in his eyes.

Of course he confronted Sirius about it (after he had managed to contain his laughter, of course, wouldn't want to sound entertained at the idea), and even when he had denied it all (big surprise), he had seen the way Sirius couldn't stop fidgeting and looking everywhere but his eyes.

Remus decided to play dirty, as no one messes with a werewolf's chocolate (and mittens) and tells the story. So he stole Sirius' favorite jumper, now too short for him but almost right to Remus, with two holes right next to the hem and the red wool fading almost to pink, worn and Sirius' scented after years of sleeping in it when too cold. And Remus found an excuse to be surrounded by the scent he secretly yarned for (although that word sounded to girly for his taste) when he wore the jumper all the time for a week, saying he needed something to warm himself without his kidnapped glove.

Sirius said nothing of it, but Remus could see the way he was either trying to repress laughter or a frown, meaning that the outcome wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he first tried to be funny and be fed free chocolate. And Remus continued to wear the jumper and earned weird glances from girls everywhere at Hogwarts, somewhat confused of what exactly the boys were doing now with the clothes exchange (and secretly they all wanted Sirius to try Peter's clothes, as they would fit him really, really tight).

A week later of Sirius' jumper theft, when a new ransom note was delivered to Remus accompanied by a triangular gray piece of wool, cut straight from Remus' glove; Remus decided he had had enough of the game. Peter had been with him when the third year with gave him the note, mildly terrified and jumping a little with every step he gave, obviously hexed recently; and when Peter figured out the whole thing and laughed his head off (something Remus didn't appreciated very much), he advised him to go to the dropping point and bring the guilty boy to justice and Remus decided not to let him see any muggle movies again; but went there at the time the note indicated nevertheless.

As he stood in the hallway he couldn't help but feel stupid and gullible, but he reassured himself with the fact that he hadn't brought any chocolate (a small act of defiance, a memorial for his now murdered glove). Arms crossed against his chest, he waited in silence, blunt fingernails scraping the fabric of Sirius' jumper in a nervous tic he had no control over.

"I like the way you look in my jumper," Said Sirius' voice from behind a tapestry, cool and cheerful and so very Sirius that Remus wanted no more but to wipe the grin that came with it off his face.

"Where's my glove?" Remus asked trying not to show anger, and to not notice how very much like a muggle movie this all sounded.

"Where's my chocolate?" Sirius smirked as he went out and stood next to Remus, imitating his posture but with a smirk on his face.

And that was too much for Remus. "You bastard, Give it back!" He said as he poked Sirius in the chest with a single finger and restrained himself to do some actual damage.

Another smirk. "Why?"

"You had no right to steal it! You know I don't have the money to buy a new pair and now I'll have to go around all bloody winter with a hole in my left glove, and it's your entire fault!"

Sirius waved it off. "I'll buy you a new pair. Jeez, don't get your knickers in a twist, Moony." He finished with a snort.

And suddenly Remus was so very angered, at the fact that Sirius didn't really understand, for all he said he did and that he could just be so laid back about the whole thing. "That's the problem Sirius, that you can always get a new pair, that everything is always just a game for you and that you don't care at all that those were the gloves of my father and therefore are irreplaceable." He said in one long breath, surprising even himself at his sudden bluntness.

Sirius paled visibly, and Remus turned to look at the stone walls because talking of his late father still brought a dull pain to his gut, even when it already had been a year since the funeral. "Moony…I didn't know they were your father's, I really didn't, I-" Remus shacked his head to stop the flow of the whispered words. There was a moment of silence, a requiem in telepathy for the still new void in Remus' life.

"And it wasn't a game. Not exactly anyway." Sirius wouldn't look at him as he spoke the words, hands in his pockets and looking nervous.

"Then what was it?" Remus' tone was tired as he leaned back against the wall, anger gone but curiosity not there yet.

"I was trying to get your attention," Said Sirius so fast he barely caught the meaning, and when he saw the unmistakable blush on Sirius' pale skin his interest was peaked.

"You have everyone's attention, Padfoot," He said with a slight frown and narrowed eyes.

Sirius blushed even harder, and stared unblinkingly at a spot on the wall opposite to him as it held the answers to all things living. "I want _your_ attention." And as Sirius swallowed hard and closed his eyes as if a heavy burden had just been lifted off his shoulders Remus understood quite clearly what the other boy meant.

"Oh," was his smart reply.

Sirius managed to chuckle a little, and then stayed silent, waiting for a slightly better reply (or less lame, in any way). Looking fidgety but trying to maintain his trademark coolness, blowing dark hair out of his eyes. Remus knew him better than that, though, and he knew he probably had sweaty palms inside his pockets. Served him right, the fucker.

"Don't be silly Padfoot, of course you have my attention." He blushed a little himself, and wanted to kick himself for that; His voice refusing to go out in the confident tone he had willed to do.

"I do?" Said Sirius as he turned to him with a hopeful glint in his eyes and looking the more nervous Remus had ever seen him.

"Why else would I have worn this stupid jumper for over a week?"

"Good point." A pause. "The ransom has changed, now I want a kiss." And there was the Sirius he had always known, way too bold for his own good. He got his wish, though, and as they kissed he forgot he was a prefect and shouldn't really be snogging on empty hallways in the middle of the day, and he could only think of that this was much better than the smelly sweater he had once thought a decent substitute.

"Now, where's my glove?" Remus asked a bit short of breathe a while later, both flushed but with matching grins on their faces.

"James has it. Under his mattress, I believe; no sense of mystery, that boy." Sirius said as he dragged Remus by the hand to the dorm, claiming he still wanted the chocolate he had asked for.

"Wait a minute, James knew?" A nod. "And he didn't tell me?" Another one.

"He thought it was stupid, but agreed when I told him I couldn't exactly buy you flowers, now could I?"

"So he helped you kidnap my glove and hold it hostage?"

"Yep. Hey, stop laughing!"


	6. Suspicion

So I'm back at my usual style, so yes no more horrible dialogue (I _will_ try and get it better, though, so dread more of it), but with lots of angst!

I'm quite satisfied with this, so hopefully you'll like it too. And reviews are nice. reviews make me happy and a happy Nekare means more drabbles (though I'm already spoiling you a lot as it is, two drabbles per day? tsk tsk, I'm way too nice).

**Suspicion**

**By: Nekare**

Remus lays staring at the ceiling, the bedroom covered in darkness and the lingering scent of coffee in the air. He gave up on reading two hours ago, when Mrs. Dalloway started spelling accusations and wonderings amidst its pages, the hated word, Betrayal, forming in every sentence.

He lays alone in the cold room, the heater broken and too tired to remember a warming charm; trying not to think he has no idea where Sirius has gone, no idea if he's meeting someone in a dark alley with information in his pocket; an honorary Dark Mark painted on his left forearm.

The neon lights of the hotel across the street shine through the curtains intermittently, filling the room with flashes of light as red as the dying leaves on the streets and as red as the heart Remus can't help but think is getting ready to be broken. So he waits and tries to shut down his treacherous mind, and when Sirius finally comes home he doesn't waste time pretending he's asleep.

Sirius slips into bed, quiet and awkward and all of the things he had never been before, when it all had been laughs and pranks and hormones and the bittersweet feeling of growing up. He kisses Remus ear, and Remus is too tired to care, too tired to deny himself a little of the man he had once known.

And soon there is only panting and shared breaths as they forget who they are and the war that is raging outside the window, red light flashing a hundred photographs of questionable morality. There are only low moans, sweat slicked bodies moving together – rapid pulse beating together – and the _I love you, I love you, ah, yes…_ Repeated over and over again, while their brains are too devoid of blood to deny the reality; and as they come and shudder without looking at the other the feeling of company comes again, sultry and seductive and making them wonder why did they ever had doubts anyway.

But then Remus' breathing calms and the once blank mind fills up again with the suspicion that's eating his insides, slow and steadily; and the red light seems more like the blood spilled that he's too much of a coward to stop by laying judgment on the man that is falling asleep next to him, a leg on top of his own and sweaty dark hair shadowing his eyes.

Everything's over, and the emptiness is once again swallowing him whole.


	7. Flirting With Madness

Another long one! but quite better than the last one (ugh, the dialogue!), or at least it is in my eyes. Thank you so much for the reviews, they make my day XD.

I've just realized that I haven't had a disclaimer, so just in case: I own nothing. (and I've also realized I haven't tried Sirius' POV yet, so hopefully that'll come next.)

**Flirting With Madness**

**By: Nekare**

The music fills the room, dancing in ups and lows of sound twirling in the almost empty room; and Remus wants to dive into it, swim in the cadence of the song and forget the gray tinted world outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It's been raining for two hours, and the glass holds the drips painted with water; shining with the light that has abandoned the wizarding world figuratively, soft – a lace embroidery to adorn the routine of ancient London.

The window is cool, and Remus rests his forehead on the glass, eyes dropping to half mast and gazing dreamily at the rain, wishing his life was as simple as the people walking down the street, muggles, living happily and worrying over the afternoon's sitcom on the television and pondering about that new wonder, the new born child of the Internet Network; a poor copy of the millenary Owling, Remus finds it.

Meanwhile, the Order members are painfully aware of the terror waiting just outside their doors, threatening and looming ahead as a patch of darkness; gnarling, growing even bigger. And there it came the darkness of the Blacks, covered with luxury and long lost wealth, regal appearing; looking coy and flirting with madness.

Just the way Sirius looks as he enters the room, still covered in blood from the dead rats he's been feeding Buckbeack (and now that they have actual food to give the creature, it has become much more symbolic), long hair falling into his eyes and bloody streaks in his forehead for having tried to move it aside without remembering the thick substance that coated his fingers.

He joins Remus in the couch by the window, green velvet covered in a layer of dust and with the color washed away in parts by decades of continuous sunlight. He sits against Remus' knees, who's sitting on the back of the seat; head still resting upon the window.

"The music is lovely," Sirius says quietly, as he has been prone to do since he has been cooped up in the house he detests so, screaming silently how much he hates this place. Some of the blood on his clothes stains Remus' pants, and he cleanses it with a quick cleaning spell.

"It is, isn't it?" Says Remus as he moves his fingers on top of the tiny droplets and follows their path down into oblivion and the city sewers. "I brought my old record player with me a week ago and hadn't remembered it until now. This place needs some cheering, that's for sure." _And so does Sirius, _he adds to himself. He starts to pass his left hand through Sirius' hair (the other one is still following mysterious paths that lead to imaginary places in his head, a journey, a quest, maybe a princess to save and a dragon to slay as the drop goes down), and he's rewarded with a long sigh.

"I'm glad you remembered our song," Sirius says while nuzzling Remus' knees, sounding muffled and with just a hint of the old Black charm, squashed and reborn lacking a bit of innocence and playfulness.

Remus lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, _No, Padfoot, I'm glad _you_ remembered it._ He adds instead, "How could I not? Although I have to admit I haven't heard it in quite a long time." Surprise in Sirius' eyes, a mischievous smile and a frown in his face; probably not in the right order, but Remus doesn't care much about it when Sirius suddenly stands up and grins at him; catching Remus' hand in his (and now they're both bloody, but it isn't as if Remus will complain at the contact).

"Then we'll have to do something about it, right? Sirius pulls him to his feet, distracting him from the rain at last. "Make happier memories, you know, for that song." And as he speaks Remus thinks he can see a glimpse of the seventeen year old boy he had once been, full of life and pent-up energy; hidden within the shell of a man Sirius has become after Azkaban, chills running up his spine at the mere mention of Dementors and rumpled sheets after a night plagued with nightmares.

Sirius puts his left hand on Remus' shoulder and holds his hand with his own, starting to dance a waltz; clumsily, because he isn't used to not be the one leading, but with a smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes; a thing Remus hasn't seen since they left his cottage in the north to imprison Sirius once again under the guise of a hideout.

Soon they're dancing all over the empty house, music floating in his ears and old lyrics spurting from their lips; laughing like the boys they had forgotten they had been and breaking old vases and ancient (not to mention expensive) Black heirlooms as they spin wildly in the reduced spaces, neither caring and neither wanting to stop.

And as they lay with their shoulders touching on a rug in the moldy living room and charm the ceiling with intertwined letters of a really corny poem in bright pinks and oranges and reds (as that would be the more insulting color to the house that seems to reject them as if it had a life of its own) that Kreacher will no doubt try to erase the next morning while murmuring hate threats and complaints under his breath, Remus realizes that maybe he shouldn't envy the muggles and their peaceful life; but try and accept his own and look to the future with his chin up.

(And he tries very hard to convince himself of that, but he's still not sure he believes it completely).

It's October, and the music is still filling the stale air of the decaying house, accompanied by the drums of the rain pounding on the windows, large tears traveling south in the glass to an expected end; the same way as the tears on Remus' face fourteen Octobers ago.


	8. Snowflake

I can't believe the month is almost over already, I wrote so little! But well, I'll try and continue to update this even when the promts stop coming. The promt was **scarves and hats **but just how I ended up doing angst with such a happy promt I have no Idea. Your reviews make my day, seriously XD

**Snowflake**

**By: Nekare**

His old scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck, a rope ready to choke him to death with the autumn colors he still identifies as home and security (red and golden as the sunsets he's watched with Sirius in silence).

His fogs the air next to his lips, still swollen by his (their) last outburst of passion, ice melting on the window with their heat; and most probably Remus would never be able to show his face again to his neighbors, after the spectacle he did of himself yesterday while having sex against a near frozen window. (The feeling of an ending made it taste sweeter.)

Remus presumes Sirius is still on Remus' bed, curled up beneath the sheets, the black locks Remus has passed his fingers through so many times spilled on top of the once white pillow. Remus can picture him in his own head, one of Sirius' own fingers pressed against his lips as he always did when relaxed, possibly dreaming of the happy times, when a psycho wasn't messing with their lives; the same way Remus dreams every night.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again he's back to reality, alone in the snow covered park (poetry written in whites), just a block away from his dingy flat; trying to make up his mind and gathering courage enough to leave Sirius for good.

They're hurting each other, he knows, and there's no point to keep on lying; not when he can see the suspicion in Sirius' eyes, as cold and dead looking as his grey irises.

The snow starts to fall again, tiny snowflakes of long lost hope, and amidst it he sees Sirius across the street, wearing the stupid hat Remus had taken off his head the first time he kissed him, and his expression grave and so different from his memory-Sirius that Remus has to frown a little. The war has changed them all, filled them with paranoia and dark thoughts; seeing a threat in every single face.

Sirius stares languidly at him, not acknowledging the old jumper Remus has stolen from him (old but Sirius scented, a souvenir of laughter and cold days by the fire), and Remus looks at him in the eye as he mouths _Good-bye. _

(The _I love you _he will keep to himself.)

He's alone once again when Sirius turns and walks away, dark figure getting lost in the white of the snow (which will turn to gray, Remus thinks, as soon as it touches the ground); and Remus looks up into the sky. A snowflake falls into his eye, because the dampness there can't be a tear.


	9. Swing Me to Heaven

Kind of hurried, and sloppy since I'm incredibly tired, but I still like parts of this. Hope you do too.

The prompts were: A bonfire, 'Why do the leaves change colors' and a boy in a swing. (Does it show I'm trying to cover up as much prompts as possible?)

**Swing Me To Heaven**

**By: Nekare**

From his dusty room in the house that hunted his dreams for years, Sirius could see a playground, lonely and inviting to laughter and happiness; and having nothing but broken dreams and moldy slides. When he was little, and the idea of escaping Number 12, Grimmauld Place was far away while he run after it in dreams with his fingers never quite clasping it, he used to go and sit on one of the two remaining swings, (the other out of its hinges, the same as his shoulder after Bellatrix and decide she liked Sirius' toy broom and he wouldn't let her borrow it) and stare ahead of him thinking of nothing.

The swing was his sanctuary, a place to escape the nasty looks and uptight rules; his torturous cousin and the dreadful routine that was making his head cry out in need for something, what, he didn't know for sure. So he swung along with Regulus (sweet baby brother to cherish and protect, both failures on Sirius' part), back and forth, trying to reach a piece of deep blue heaven and wondering why did the leaves changed color anyway; reaching for the blood red and sunset orange leaves with one hand and feeling himself flying (_higher, higher, until he wouldn't touch the ground anymore_); eyes closed and stomach forgotten with the dirt, heart pounding with freedom.

These moments of overpowering ecstasies were short, though, and soon again he would be trapped inside the house as dark as its name, disapproval on all of the grown-ups gazes and his head planning already the next escapade, the next moment he would be able to fake being a normal boy, playing in a park with leaves and bonfires and illegal magic (Kreacher's blue ears, a frog singing in a high soprano, a puddle showing stags and wolfs and rats in a display of divination he didn't completely believe) and dreaming for himself a regular, loving, pair of parents.

(Too bad he was old enough to know happy endings didn't exist.)

Right before pulling out his wand to go to the Potters (kitchen full of sweet smelling pies and honest smiles) with a new scar courtesy of his mother and a such a deep identity crisis that he wasn't sure which way was up and down anymore, he sat again on the rusty swing, shaking and wishing the summer would be over already, welcoming autumn with open arms and heart and longing for the first pristine frost; wishing for the nightmare to be over. He swung once again and reached in the dark for his namesake, a security line that would never fail him.

(And not so much to his surprise, he found he missed the leaves that matched Remus' hair.)


	10. Spider Web

The angsty (and long-ish) ending to the october community, which is the third part (until I didn't realize it until I was writing this) to **Suspicion**(drabble 6) and **Snowflake **(drabble 8); the closure of the saga of S's. I like this one a lot, even when I do think the ending is kind of rushed, but that's because Sirius' part was supposed to be first. Hope you like it!(btw, reviews are my drug...)

**Spider Web**

**By: Nekare**

October 31, 1981

The spider web in Remus' head is directing him to gloomy thoughts, silky strands weaving a net of deceive and betrayal he isn't quite ready to accept yet, not the fact that Sirius may very well be the spy. A cup of tea takes him to the time he had been sick on Fourth Year and James brought him his favorite tea from the kitchens, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak; James takes him to Lily and the way she would gaze knowingly at him and leave chocolate on his windowsill every day after the full moon; Lily takes him to Harry and the day Sirius had tried to teach the little baby to dance properly last spring, and Sirius was exactly the kind of thoughts he was trying hard to ignore, to not hear the shouting voices in his head telling him he had made a terrible mistake.

He misses Harry, has missed him so much since the Potters had gone into hiding three days ago, and he had hugged the baby close for more than half an hour, not knowing when he would get the chance to do that again; to tell him the names of everything the boy would point with his chubby fingers and teach him alongside Sirius every single curse word Harry would need in his life and tell him stories of evil princesses and beautiful witches (since he was never one for the ordinary), and maybe when he was feeling specially happy, the story of four different animals, wandering into the night and playing tag outside a candle lighted castle.

A sigh escapes from his chapped lips, and he gets back to his feet, numb limbs after two hours of laying in the couch thinking and missing; and he goes to the kitchen to distract his mind. He raids the refrigerator, and all he finds is a carton of milk, three days away from going stale, but drinks it anyway. He's been lonelier than ever that he couldn't even owl away his fears to the Potters and if only it could be carried by an owl, his aching heart.

He sits on the windowsill, the same one he had performed lewd acts on with Sirius only ten days ago ( i _Snow still in his dreams but missing from the permanently grey city, cold air cutting to his bones /i _), and worries instead of misses ( i _and for a moment, he forgets his own suspicions about Sirius being the spy, trusting the heart that remains true to him without his head consent /i _); wondering what the people he cares most for in the world are doing right now, and whether they are safe.

He hopes so, since he knows that without them, he won't be able to live.

* * *

It's been three days since the Fidelius Charm has been set, and Sirius hasn't been able to sleep well for at least a week, tossing in his hotel sheets and counting the time since he last saw Remus (ten days, twenty one hours, thirteen minutes, and five seconds) in that snow filled day; so different from the gray nothingness that has chilled his bones for the last part of the month. It most likely won't snow again until December, and times now are so dark that no one can presume to be alive a couple of months later, the threat of something even worse than death following everyone like a shadow and forcing them to suck dry every single moment of happiness that has survived the war.

(He wishes he could talk to Prongs or at least Lily of this, and reminds himself they're trying hard to hold onto the happier days too.)

When Sirius finally leaves the impersonal hotel he's been staying in since he left what had been both his and Remus' flat, night has fallen, and muggle children all around are dressed in pieces of dreams and beyond imagination; witches and zombies and devils and a few feathery angels strolling down the streets of London while asking for bright colored candy in their anxious voices with make up coating their little faces. (A stolen tradition, sold by the Americans.) He avoided a serial killer and two dinosaurs to get to his bike, and then he had to disillusion himself to not be as visible in the jack-o-lantern lit sky.

The city shined with orange and purple lights from above, a colorful map that led his path to the nastier side of London, the laughter changing to the deafening silence as he passed the broken windows and trash bins posing as bonfires; the absurd place Peter had chosen as his hideout against Sirius' better judgment, who had told him time and time again that that was the first place everyone would look for him. Sirius shivered inside his coat as he parked the bike, and walked another block until he reached the dingy little house Peter was hiding in, windows covered with wooden panels.

The house was heavily warded, and Sirius had to undo a shocking number of spells just to open it with a creaky sound, what could easily be the last warning of a Death Eater attack. "Peter, It's me," He said just above a whisper to the dusty room, all shades of darkness painting it. There's nothing in the house that could indicate someone was living in there, and Sirius walks through the empty rooms with a frown in his face, watching the spider webs shine silver with the moonlight that filters through a hole in the roof, spelling desolation and abandon along with the dust that makes his eyes water in thick black letters Sirius isn't ready to read. The door had been closed and there was no sign of struggle. No Death Eater had fought Peter. ( i _He hoped Peter had at least fought himself /i _).

"Wormtail?" He calls softly again, even when he already knows the answer. Peter isn't there, and has never been there, Sirius probably being the first human being entering the mice infected house in years. The realization of this hits him hard in the head, and an ethereal cloud of dust rises when he falls to his knees in the middle of the room, laughing hysterically at his own blindness.

Peter had played them all.

Two minutes later, the full impact of the betrayal makes him jump onto his feet and run outside, leaving the door open and getting to his bike in record time; fear toying with his entrails as he sets course to Godric's Hollow, thinking desperately of James and Lily and Harry and Remus' faces, and then of the Peter he had always thought he knew so well; heart pounding wildly against his ribcage as he follows the path weaved by starlight and his own memory of the house that holds so many cherished memories and the one he hopes he will be able to see now he has shown he's every bit of the idiot everyone thinks he is ( i _They were right, everyone that thought his head was fucking worthless /i _), suspecting Remus ( i _heart broken and face devoid of blood, suspected and suspecting in turn /i _) and giving their only last hope to the very spy ( i _free to laugh at them in their stupidity /i _)he had been accused to be.

He heard the wails of baby Harry before he touched the ground, and when he saw Hagrid moving through the destroyed house trying to shush the little bundle in his arms (his parents corpses cold just a few steps away), he couldn't stop the tears that formed in his eyes (sadness liquefied) and the oath for revenge written in blood inside his head, darkness drowning him but refusing him the quick death of asphyxiation.

He kissed Harry's newly scarred forehead one last time, closed his eyes and apparated to London, pursuing the ghost of a friend and choking on his misery.

In his haste, he forgot to owl Remus.


	11. Stained

So, eh, some of you might be wondering whatever happened to the last five chapters. Well, fear not, for I have only decided to post it as a separate story, since it ended up having sixteen chapters tries looking guilty. If you still want to read it, it's here http/ www. fanfiction. net /s/2763403/1/ (just remove the spaces). Feedback will be lovely for this one!

**Stained**

**By: Nekare**

_Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,  
That does not bite so nigh  
As benefits forgot:  
Though thou the waters warp,  
Thy sting is not so sharp  
As a friend remembered not._

_-William Shakespeare_

Sirius falls down from grace, so slowly not even he knows about the dark uncertainty biting at his toes, leaving purple-blue marks that used to be red and heated just a few months ago (when life was bearable and Remus kissed him on the collarbone so lightly it was almost a caress), soul asleep and waiting for something, something other than steely ocean by the window, for the first kiss of true love, maybe.

(He doesn't wake up, though, and he stares at the gray world encased in steel bars).

His nails have grown larger, and he scratches at his arms, desperate to feel something, _anything_ other than the dullness chewing at his brain, the pain that has made his heart stop. The blood looks too bright in the room when it finally comes, and Sirius laughs just like he did in November first. There's art on the walls, crosses painted with four fingers and long stripes of scarlet paint, a graveyard for the dead, a curse for a betrayer, a shrine to a life long forgotten.

Dust and dim-lighted chandeliers drown his mind with the only thoughts he's allowed to have, a mad woman shouting as he dances with her hands in the air, Black looks on the two children watching her silent, both of them doomed. The Dementors sometimes take a day to get to his cell, and the short moments of lucidness feel like acid on his skin, corroding and blistering angry red with just the barest tang of orange. Then he remembers wind on his hair as he flies and Harry's tiny hands closed around his shirt, Peter's shifty smiles (and then there's bile on his mouth, tasting more like bitterness than real hatred) and Moony's hair surrounding him as a crown as he lay on the grass smiling at him.

He sits in the farthest corner of the room, crouched low against the bloody letters of a name he used to taste as he spoke it, sweet on his tongue and the waves of the ocean crashing against his ears within a shell (a shell of real life, he thinks), and he stares at the real waves that are too devoid of color to match the ones in his imagination.

Remus has forgotten him, he knows, and Sirius thinks he's right in doing so, that he couldn't dare touch him with his hands soaked in guilt. It hurts, at night when the ghostly robes of the Dementors drag behind them, nightmare sounds written when they rustle in the filthy ground as their owners glide like a void of nothingness, taunting the prisoners that scream, scream, _scream_ just as Sirius wants to.

Then the madness hue returns, and Sirius is almost glad for it.


	12. Meltdown

Eh no, I'm not dead. I am fairly busy right now, though, so only drabbles have been written. Feedback is love!

**Meltdown**

**By: Nekare**

Remus tries saying _I love you_, low and throaty and raw, and only a choked whisper comes out of his lips, words freezing at the below zero temperature in the room, heart pumping too much blood that his brain can handle.

Sirius' eyes narrow in confusion, trying to make out the muttered words that just won't reach his ears, the quiet sentence that Remus both wants to rip out of his insides and scream it at rooftops with doves and the world below as witness. Remus trembles, a little, and kisses him to make him forget. The bed is almost warm, and Sirius presses his foot against Remus' calves, the hole in the sock making the large toe tickle his skin (tickle and stir his damned emotions, heat coiled on his guts).

The treacherous words are still caught on the back of his throat, though, and a spring later (an eternity later), they slip from his mouth without any kind of warning, and when he finally realizes it he's still wearing the drowsy smile that carries even more weight that the golden laced letters bouncing on air itself, hiding with the green background of the lonely park at five in the morning, echoing in the silence.

Remus wants to be afraid, wants to be concerned, but Sirius has a lock of his brown hair between too red lips, hands twined on the grass (and petals on their faces, the blooming flowers shedding colors like rain); and he can't seem to get his brain to understand the situation.

So he stares at the sky, and Sirius laughs with dew on his voice and life in his eyes. "Took you long enough," he says, and when Remus repeats the words they feel like home on his tongue.


	13. Playing with Light

Well, the month has ended and the daily prompts did too, but I'll continue to update this with all of the R/S drabbles I write until the next prompted month, april (and worry not, my dear readers, I write a lot XD). Feedback will be loved!

**Playing With Light**

**By: Nekare**

Remus had once heard that the fibers of light filtering through the cotton-candy clouds are called 'God's fingers', and as he watches the light playing on the snow, creating petty shadows that rise and move and hide before you can catch them (just as his own shadow sometimes played hide and seek with him when he was little, when he still thought fairy dust would make him fly), he can almost believe it.

_A penny for your thoughts_says Sirius from behind him, stopping his smoking for a second and sinking his nose in the empty space between Remus' shoulder blades (as empty as his head goes everytime he comes down from orgasm with Sirius' hair tangled around his fingers), and Remus doesn't know exactly what to answer.

_You. You are in my thoughts. _Remus shivers as Sirius blows blue-gray smoke (so alike to his eyes) into his nape, and Sirius just curls his arm around Remus' neck, bringing the cigarette to chapped lips. Remus inhales, his arms still at his sides, and stares, stares, stares, into the white extension in front of his eyes, silent and warm against all reason.

They share the cigarette, lungs poisoned with the same sweet torture (an affinity, a romantic gesture), pressed together so tightly Remus wants to think their limits will blur, their molecules attach together. _I'm creating havoc in your mind, then? _Sirius asks after a while, staring at him as he rests his head atop Remus' right shoulder.

_You've no idea _Remus wants to say, but instead, he takes another drag, staring into Sirius' eyes and exhales against his lips, a sharing of smoke, an almost-kiss painted with air. _Maybe _he chooses to say, eyes half lidded, and Sirius kisses him (for real, this time) in return.

They lay on the snow later, and the snow aroundthem melts with their body heat.


	14. Red Roses

This is a real small drabble I wrote for a friend's birthday. I chose one of her interests, **Jack the Ripper**, and managed not to do it bloody at all (which, if you know me, it's really hard for me XD) Hope you like it!

**Red Roses**

**By: Nekare**

"Whoever was Jack the Ripper?" says Sirius as he tries taking another drink from his beer while still laying down, and liquid sloshes down his chin, getting lost under Remus' checkered shirt he refuses to take off (water gleaming, a secret underneath clothes Remus wants to know very desperately).

Remus takes the beer from his fingers and drinks too, thinking vaguely about giggling girls trying to put their lips where a boy had first, and he snorts at such idiocy. "He was a cold-blooded killer in London, but I'll be damned if I remember when. There were long skirts and girls showing their breasts, though, from what the movies show." The grass is cool beneath him, but Sirius' leg brushing against him feels too warm, too heated, too feverish for his drunken mind.

They look at the stars above them, sharing the drink and something else made out of funny movements on one's stomach and lingering gazes on classrooms, a mystery they're both solving piece by piece. "Sounds wicked," says Sirius after a while, and Remus has to smile.

"Whoever thought bloody guts would call your attention," he turns his head towards Sirius, and his breath goes erratic as he finds Sirius already staring at him."Happy Birthday, Pads."

They smile at each other, and try overlooking Peter's snoring from Remus' other side. This is romance, after all, in their own way.


	15. Evolution

Finally a long(er) chapter! I'm quite fond of this one, of the utter silent feeling of this. Hope you like it too, and remember, feedback is the purest drug!

**Evolution**

**By: Nekare**

_After a full year  
of gazing out, one morning  
I open my door --  
to a thin snowfall, frozen --  
the far edge of loneliness. _

small hitotose o / nagametsukuseru / asatoide ni / usuyuki kooru / sabihisa no hate /small

-- Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), 'Winter Morning'

Sirius lays on the snow, black hair spread around his head, mingling with the whiteness, bleeding the opposite color into the coldness beneath him. There are snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, and he has to blink to get the remaining falling pieces of cotton clouds out of his eyes. The white tinted breath coming out his lips would taste of whisky, were Remus to try and taste it (in the way Sirius still dreams about, still wants, still _desires_ ). His clothes are soaked, arms and legs (outstretched, in a plea for help) numb, but his Gryffindor scarf is still warm on top of chest, threadbare with memories and sweet moments passed.

_He hunts a werewolf in sixth year, holds him captive with a striped scarf and a smile that wants to be confident but carries nervousness instead. Remus blushes, but he comes closer inside his makeshift cage, willing and half-lidded and making Sirius' mouth go dry. Sirius kisses him, clumsily and hurriedly, and Remus wraps the scarf around them both, laughing softly against his lips (Sirius thinks he might die, but he doesn't, so he steals Remus' breath instead). _

Gaze lost in the skies (a petty excuse, as he's seeing nothing at all), he longs, trying to deny himself the reason of the longing on itself, lying in his head, thinking he misses warm food served under thousands of flickering candles that turn eyes alight (brown ones, that always seem starved for food, knowledge, affection), that he misses a red canopy to be the first thing he sees as he wakes up (and after that, the four freckles Remus has on his left shoulder), he misses security.

(He misses Remus).

_"Fuck you," is the first thing Remus says to him when he wakes up the morning after Snape almost dies. Corrosive acid leaks from Sirius' swallowing all the way down to his heart at the deception in the words, and after a day of muttered /i _sorrys_ i he falls to his knees in front of a still injured Remus, and as he sucks, sucks, sucks, he wants to suck the hateful poison out of Remus' blood (Remus comes with a gasp, pulling Sirius' hair so tightly it hurts, but he doesn't look at him) . Sirius forgets about dignity for two months, twenty-seven days, four hours and fifteen minutes, and he knows Remus forgives him the moment he won't let him touch him. _

It's three in the morning, and somewhere in the back of his mind Sirius knows he could get arrested (if he were a Muggle, that is) for trespassing, but there are no sounds coming from the strange house in whose garden he's trying to vanish and become part of the wind, and the half-fallen remnants of a snowman remind him of snow fights and little Harry discovering the cold, white substance. He takes a hand to his jaw, where the bruise that had painted it purple has already faded.

_They fight on New Year's day, while they should be kissing the dead year goodbye, and they shout at each other fueled by the fear of not knowing just where the other one goes for his missions. There's mistrust on Remus' eyes, the kind Sirius hasn't seen since The Prank, and he suspects his own eyes carry the same tint. Sirius crosses the line when he says "it's all your fault the Prewetts died anyway, if you had only gotten there early this wouldn't have happened." (Remus hadn't been able to sleep well since that night, and Sirius regrets his words as soon as he utters them)._

_Remus holds his breath for a second, face red, and then he punches Sirius, hard, on the jaw. Sirius staggers and spits blood on James' wooden floors, the entire party looking at them intently. Remus comes closer, and then he mutters, "Seeing as I was a bit busy shagging you to the wall, I'd say you share half the guilt." He spits the words, and they just stare at each other, teeth clenched and blood pounding on their ears. _

It's been a month, and Sirius just can't stop thinking about it. He has escaped dinner with Peter this night, not able to deal with Remus' quiet way to ignore him, always more painful than actual hatred. There's a crack some steps away from him, and Sirius braces him for what he knows will happen.

"Finally I find you," Remus says looking at the sky too, looming on top of him with hands on his pockets.

"It's not like you care." Sirius tries to make it sound like a statement, but it comes out like the bastard son of a growl, laced with pain.

"I don't." Remus says too quickly, too sharply. "Or at least, I don't want to." They're not talking about Remus' abilities to track someone anymore. Never had been, not really.

Sirius memorizes Remus' figure, every single detail that still sends his imagination to overdrive. Then, he closes his eyes. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

They don't talk anymore, and after they watch the sun coming out (an explosion of colors that feels almost indecent for this gloomy days), they Apparate together without any other word spoken, and the reappear together on Sirius' flat, kissing frantically before any of them is truly aware of what exactly is happening.

They fuck, a love making no longer, urgent and quiet and with evaporated tears on their skins, nails leaving pink letters of despair written over their backs. Remus leaves, after, and Sirius suddenly feels like crying.

(He does, a while after, and longs once again, alone in the room.)


	16. Minor Arcana

I think this is one of my best R/S stories, and I'm soooo proud of it XD (so, a review would be like, amazing.)

My only knowledge of the tarot is what I researched for this, and the meaning of every card is in parenthesis. Hope you like it!

**Minor Arcana**

**By: Nekare**

i.

Sirius will always be Cups on Remus' mind, aristocracy trailing after him like a thick scent that tricks his senses, calls him close, pushes him farther. Impulsive, sensorial, brash. Remus watches, and realizes just how different they really are. Opposites, really.

Remus is Swords.

And Swords are all about Opposites.

ii.

_King of Swords._

(Analytical, intellectual, authoritative). Their Divination Professor once tells Remus that the King is to be his representative card in the Tarot. Remus protests, saying that surely that was too of an important card to be him, and she had stared at him with a frown, thin mouth pressed together. "The knight is marked by aggressiveness and logical thinking, wouldn't that be more fitting?" he says, and Professor Kettley laughs with her ninety years sounding on her throat.

"You underestimate yourself boy, but the cards never lie." The woman gives him what clearly is intended to be an enigmatic smile, and leaves him to his own devices. Remus decides he'll take the best of both, and tries forgetting about it.

Three years later, after the full moon, he thinks he'd definitely rather like being the King, if the Knight is to be as savage as he had been last night. He apologizes, still eying Sirius' teeth marks on his neck, bruises, not cuts, heavy on his conscience nevertheless; and Sirius touches them with eyes far too bright in the dim-lighted room with a smile that takes his breath away and never gives it back.

(He tries shaking the pleasure in his mind that is screaming from joy of having marked him, but he fails utterly when he dreams about it every single night, sweaty and panting; and on the next moon it happens again, to both is elation and chagrin.)

iii.

_Eight of Swords._

(Restriction, fear). Sirius starts touching the almost dissolved bruises as a kind of a nervous tic, and Remus suddenly takes to have his baths freezing cold. Something's changed between them, a sudden spark passed along by too sharp wolf-teeth, or so it seems. Sirius stares right into his eyes every time pale fingers linger on the now barely pink marks, and they stay like that, for a few seconds, staring and doing nothing else, lips open and breath slightly out of control.

Remus realizes it's foreplay after two weeks, and then he misses sleep for two nights.

iv.

_Ace of Swords._

(Beginnings). Sirius presses Remus against the fridge in a bright April morning, and Remus drops the plastic glass filled with juice he'd been holding with shaky fingers, orange color (the complement of his own coloring) soaking their toes and spreading along the kitchen unnoticed. Both of them swallow, trying (and failing) to breathe while getting lost in the closeness, the warmth, the fear of fucking everything up with no point of return, the longing Remus never thought he'd one day see in Sirius' eyes.

They stay like that for a minute, two, and when Sirius starts biting his lower lip (temptation made flesh) with hesitance, Remus makes the decision for him.

He kisses him, too nervous to even try to be gentle, and when Sirius moans against his lips his knees sag with relief, and then there's Sirius' hands on his hair, on his neck, and he stops thinking at all. He drowns willingly into the addictive heat of the other man's mouth, pressing close, not close enough, and Sirius bites him on the neck and he _growls _vision going the same color as his boiling blood.

First kiss, smelling like artificial orange in his mind.

v.

_Two of Swords ._

(Avoidance, choices). Remus starts working odd hours, staying away from the flat with lame excuses that sound pathetic even to his own ears, a bubble of regret caught on his throat since the moment he had untangled from Sirius' embrace, claiming insanity, delirium, impossibility; his senses cursing at his brain.

Sirius stares at him throughout dinner at Peter's place, and he can almost feel his fingers being burnt from the intensity. He wants, that he knows, but he can't allow himself to lose everything he's built over the years.

(It sounds hypocritical to him too, but he tries not to linger on that. He fails, usually.)

vi.

_Three of Swords_.

(Broken heart, loneliness). He plays with children in the park, sometimes, and glares at couples strolling hand in hand for the unforgivable sin of daring to parade their love in front of him. Life's settled back to routine with Sirius, and he no longer winces every time he catches his eye. He tears the grass to uncountable pieces, and imagines it's his treacherous desire for Sirius that just refuses to die as it should.

He can hear Sirius dreaming in the bedroom next to him that night, and when Sirius sighs his name in a tone so close to despair he wants to sink on the mattress and become inexistent for a second. Maybe he wouldn't have to feel that way ( _lies_ , he thinks, as he jerks off in the same rhythm as Sirius next door).

The next day, he imagines the grass on his hands to be his doubts, and he blows the away, tiny flecks of vibrant green flying away with the help of the wind.

vii.

_Ace of Cups_ .

(Happiness, new love). Remus drags Sirius out of the Potters' house that night, feeling the tense wrist under his fingers, and he knows Sirius is so angry that he's actually shivering. "What do you--" starts saying Sirius, and Remus swallows the words with his mouth, cupping Sirius' face with his hands, eyes closed as if not to see Sirius' reaction.

Then there are Sirius' fingertips on his stomach, Sirius' lips moving with his, and he finally allows himself to release the breath he's been holding since what it seems like forever.

(He exhales Sirius' name into the kiss, and he can feel the other man smile).


	17. Interlude

A small and silly thing I wrote for a friend over LJ since she got Velvet Goldmine for me (OMG yayz!). She requested for Neville... and I'm pretty sure she didn't mean it this way XD Hope you like it!

**Interlude**

**By: Nekare**

Neville climbs to the top of the bookcase with far too much ease for an eleven month old baby, and Harry giggles from the floor as he sees where his companion has gone. Remus chokes on his beer, finally realizing the baby eyeing the floor with a smile that says he'll give a try to flying and Sirius finally lifts his head from the ground, dark bags under his eyes and looking too serene for Remus' peace of mind.

"Accio Neville," Sirius says sleepily, his hold on his wand languid and as the baby touches ground again with a giggle Remus finally allows himself to breathe again. Sirius turns to him, hair creating shadows on his cheeks, and Remus doesn't know whether he wants to kiss him or hate himself for wanting to kiss him. "Maybe I should take over, for a while," says Sirius as he sits up, pulling Harry into his lap.

"I'm okay, you can go back to sleep if you want to." He sets the beer back in the table, sitting on the floor next to Sirius and the infants crawling on the floor, his back rested on the back of the couch. His eyes are closing on their own, though, and deep down he knows it wasn't a good idea to convince both Lily i _and_ /i Alice that he would make a wonderful nanny.

Sirius rolls his eyes, and sets Harry back to the floor, where he instantly goes to steal whatever Neville now holds with chubby fingers (something green, Remus guesses, as he already knows the boy's weird fixation with both plants and dirt. Especially to have them for lunch). "Bullshit," Sirius says, and pulls his head to him, ignoring his complaints as he sets Remus' head on his lap, and suddenly the sole idea of pumping blood to his brain sounds difficult. "You really need some rest, Moony."

"M' fine," Remus says without any real attempt to cover the truth, and he stops altogether when Sirius starts tugging softly on his hair, mindless and still only half-awake, staring at the children playing in the corner of the room.

Remus allows himself to close his eyes and sigh deeply, the beer on his bloodstream giving him enough of an excuse to enjoy himself without the normal amount of guilt that comes every time he touches Sirius a moment longer than needed. Harry laughs with Neville, and the 'Muny' and 'pa-foo's coming out of his mouth almost make him forget just what the children parents are doing out there in the dark, risking themselves for the cause.

Fingertips on his skin, and Remus thinks he's dreaming. Dark hair tickling his eyelids, and he chuckles a bit, and then there's lips on his. He melts into the almost-not-there kiss, wondering just where did he ever go to sleep, and reality falls down on him as Sirius moans, practically wrapped around him from his sitting position. He pulls back, as hard as it is to break away, and looks up into Sirius eyes, as wide-open as his own.

"Care to explain?" he says dryly.

"Not really, no." says Sirius straightening his back, swallowing twice before regaining the Black haughty air he claims to hate but assumes instinctually.

"Well fuck you too," says Remus as he gets up to quickly, ignoring the dizziness that wants to overcome him for a second, just wanting to get away.

"No, stop, Moony…" A hand on his wrist, and Remus is pulled back roughly, falling sprawled across Sirius' chest, and through the anger he can see the way Sirius' façade has melted away, leaving just a scared boy, that can't seem to get all the air he needs, cheeks red. "I- I just. Shit, this is just too confusing." Sirius bites his lip, closes his eyes and throws his head back, resting it in the couch; and as Remus sees honesty on his words he decides to risk everything in a way he has never dared done before.

Remus shifts, and before he is completely aware of what he's doing, he straddles Sirius, upper bodies touching and not enough air between them to breathe from. "No repercussions?" he asks, and Sirius shakes his head too fast, face already tilted towards Remus', and then they're kissing in earnest, a dream come true and another one shattered, and for the life of him Remus can't think of a single reason they hadn't done that before.

(Two hours later, he remembers, and he needs sleeping pills just to stop staring at the ceiling in anguish).

Sirius gets his fingers under the scratchy wool of Remus' jumper, and i tickles /i , and then they're laughing into the kiss and the mood seems to improve as if magically, arms wrapped around the other.

There's tugs on their clothing, and Neville starts crying after he realizes he's not being noticed at all, and after that, when both the children parent's come pick them up, they know they did a shitty job of taking care of them.

But then again, the night had been worth it.


	18. Hide and Seek

This has been one of my best recieved fics in LJ, and I like it loads, so let's hope you'll enjoy it as well. - I love your reviews, by the way, they make me all happy and tingly.

**Hide and Seek**

**By: Nekare**

_"Your wings are so pretty, Sirius, have I ever told you that?"_

"_Yes, Remus. You have."_

Sirius still visits every day, still crouches by his side every single day with his heart caught in his throat as Remus smiles up at him with his arms around his legs, staring at him (pass him) with too dilated pupils and pieces of paper on his hair. Sirius brushes it away, softly, and has gets close enough to feel Remus' breath on his face he remembers all those might-have-been times of closeness, of almost touches that remained nothing out of sheer fear and stupidity (regret, he knows, and he feels like kicking himself).

But that makes him remember Peter throwing Remus down the stairs when he refused to give him James and Lily's new address, it reminds him the long waiting hours outside the OR, the empty whiteness as Remus' life stopped for a minute and three seconds only to come back with not enough oxygen in his brain.

It makes him remember a future, one plus one equals two, and he always tries to forget about it until he sees it in his dreams.

_Would you take me to the clouds, so I could eat some?"_

"_Remus, please, just try to remember---" a fearful look, and Sirius has to look away. "Yes. I would. What shape would you like the most?" _

The doctors say Remus might get better, that it's just a matter of time, and Sirius has picnics with him on his small hospital bed, with a cliché checkered blanket that makes Remus smile and makes Sirius want to see the bloke that had turned his insides out hidden between the carcass of a past. He doesn't, though, and he stays quiet when the Potter family come and visit in the evenings, Harry tugging lightly at his hair. Remus smiles at them, smiles too much and it looks awkward on a face that always looked far better with a smirk, a mischievous grin, a fierce determination (gone now, fallen from the top of the skyscraper of life, floor after floor of nothingness inside). James looks as destroyed as he is, Lily tells him so very softly he shouldn't lose hope.

(He snorts a bit at that, and wants to scream at the top of his lungs he's lost it an eternity ago).

"A dog," is said without hesitation, and if Sirius finds it odd he doesn't show it. "Like one of those stories you read to me."

A nod. Fingers on icy cheeks. "All right. Whatever you want, Remus, whatever you want."

He brings him books, sometimes, Thin, coarse paper, coated with tiny black insect-letters that look soft and ragged at the same time under Remus' careful fingertips, and Sirius watches in dismay as Remus stares, stares, _stares_ at the books, changing page after page with his index moving along the straight lines until his fingers are smudged with inky remembrance and yet i he doesn't read it /i , doesn't remember, isn't the same person Sirius fell secretly in love with so many years ago.

He doesn't bring the newspaper, as Peter's still running loose, and the betrayal is the only memory he doesn't want Remus to have back.

_"Sometimes I want to eat _you_ ," Remus says with his head tilted to the left, and Sirius' breath disappears. "I remember I've always wanted too."_

_"You could have. You didn't. I didn't. Won't you come back from whenever you're hidden and taste me?" _

Remus laughs softly, alien on Sirius' ears, and he swallows the cringe that rises like bile up to his mouth. Remus is sitting on the windowsill, the light making his hair look copper around the edges, an aura of loss, of yesterdays. Sirius sits next to him, close and yet so far away, and gazes sadly to the wide-eyed stranger by his side.

"You silly," says the Remus-look alike, all cheerfulness and bright toothy smiles. "I'm right here!"

"No you're not," says Sirius after a while, as he twines his fingers into brown hair. "You're gone, but, but…"

He kisses Remus, sudden and surprising even to himself, looking in the new taste a glimpse of something, i anything /i , and Remus just "Oh"s against his lips and moves very, very softly with him. He parts, red bleeding on his cheeks and blinking too quickly, looking into Remus' eyes and looking for a change.

Nothing, still, and he misses him so very much when he thinks what the real Remus would've done ("My Sirius, a bit late, isn't it? No no, don't you dare speak. Just fucking kiss me again.").

"But you'll come back." he makes himself believe. "You better."

Remus shrugs a bit, and kisses him again, the IV on his wrist getting caught on Sirius' hair.


	19. Exhibitionism

I really, _really_, like this one. One of my favorite one-shots I've ever written, or at least I think so. :) Hope you guys think that as well.

**Exhibitionism**

**By: Nekare**

That's not the right way to wear that hat, you know?" says Sirius as soon as Remus enters the flat, shirtless on the couch, staring blankly at the smoke of the cigarette burning unattended between his fingers. Remus takes his old, threadbare, Gryffindor scarf off, hangs it in the lonely nail at the middle of the wall.

"And why is that?"

Sirius shrugs, takes a drag, arches in that mouth-drying way only he can pull off as he exhales the smoke out, and Remus bites his lip with the temptation of licking his way down that curve, of kissing his shoulder in the way he's not allowed to do anymore (_scapula_ , is the technical name, and the word could just slip from his lips like melted candle wax, like heat and dreams).

He walks across the room and sits on the windowsill, hands flat next to his dangling legs as Sirius stands up and walks to him, still smoking, the old intent in his eyes that Remus both craves and hates, the one that screams _go_ when all he wants is to go slow and safe ( _or was it backwards_ ).

The hat is taken off Remus' head unceremoniously, and he can only fake indignation for mere seconds before Sirius puts it on, low over his eyes, face tilted downwards and looking straight at Remus, a smirk teasing him, shaggy hair peeking out of the cap and sticking to his skin.

Sirius walks closer until he's standing between Remus' legs, and all those months of denying himself this closeness make Remus swallow with anxiousness, with expectance. There's a reason he had decided to put an end to whatever had been what they had, he knows, but he can't really remember any reason at all as his blood boils and leaves his brain helped with gravity (it's all down to physics, it seems, inertia keeps pulling them together, momentum won't let them stop, magnetism keeps them close with their opposite poles).

"See? It's something like this," Sirius says, and before Remus knows what happened he's flirting again, flirting like two years ago when they still had to hide from the professors and the bittersweet real life had started. Sirius puts the cigarette between Remus' lips, and he turns it off in the wooden frame after Remus takes a drag still looking at him, the fifty-fourth scorch mark staying there as a reminder of the moment.

Remus takes the hat back, puts it on and tries to emulate the easy grin, the poise Sirius seems to have inherited from a thousand Blacks before him; chin tilted up to look Sirius in the eye. "Is this better?" There's a sinuous tone in his words, up and down like a roller coaster, like a wave in hundreds of years old poetry in yellowed pages, like the flame of a match that is painting with charcoal the mere tips of the fingers (and then it _burns_, but the uncertainty is what makes it worth it) .

A bright smile from Sirius, and long fingers set the corduroy fabric in place. "_Much _better, Mr. Moony. My, you even manage to look handsome with it!" says Sirius with a raised eyebrow, mischief in his eyes, and Remus forgets about the doubts and the stupid fight eight months ago as he drags Sirius' head down, a hand on his nape, as he gets his lips so close he can almost taste them, and yet, he waits.

They breathe against each other lips, Sirius' right hand on the window glass to support his weight, leaving the greasy imprints of his life line, and they have both stopped smiling because the mere act of inhaling (in, out, in, out) and exhaling has become difficult. "Will you give in already?" asks Sirius after a moment.

"Have I ever said no?" And that's a lie, they both know, but it seems to be good enough for Sirius as he leans down to kiss him, urgent and fast, Remus' hand twined in his hair as the last of his doubts edges away.

There's not much talking after that, only gasps and moans that mingle with the traffic sounds out in the streets, filtering through the tiny crack in the glass, a throaty _Finally_ leaves Sirius' lips, a whispered _You tart _answers back. Remus takes off his shirt, collar first and then the sleeves in that natural way he has never seen a girl do, and Sirius helps eagerly, throwing the old newsboy hat to the floor in the process, and out of sheer deviousness he picks it up and puts it back on his head, smiling.

Sirius' hands go low, low, low as they kiss again, sweaty skin pressed tight together as Sirius straddles him on the windowsill, the wood squeaking with their weight. A hand pressing lightly at the front of his worn jeans, and Remus' world gets painted in the brighter palette, pure greens and scorching blues and the red of the carpet that looks hypnotic just now as he whimpers softly. Sirius laughs, and Remus has to chase that elusive red mouth with eyes half-closed. He grows tired of the game when Sirius keeps moving away with a smirk, and he takes full advantage of Sirius' gasp as he wraps a leg around his waist and pulls him closer, friction and adrenaline making them both pant into the kiss. They struggle to get the rest of their clothes off, but the hat stays on.

They fuck against the glass, in the middle of the day when everyone can see, and Remus stops fighting against his exhibitionist urges as he breathes _Missed you, missed you, missed you_ a thousand times over against Sirius' neck, voice growing thicker and broken with every thrust, with every single movement. Sirius licks his collarbone, blows hot air on the wet path, and then Remus is coming, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream, his silence spelling the _I love you_ he has never been able to utter.

They stay there for a while, catching their breath, staring at each other in silence. "Knew you'd come round," Sirius says, and Remus mumbles a _Shut up_ into his mouth. Sirius kisses back, and Remus finally stops doubting.

There's not much sleep for either of them in the next few days, but Sirius' skin against his makes up for it.


End file.
